


Business as Usual

by ThePaintedScorpionDoll



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Bondage, Decapitation, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulative Language, Mind Games, NSFW, TW: Bondage, TW: Manipulative Language, trigger warning, tw: dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePaintedScorpionDoll/pseuds/ThePaintedScorpionDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s really important to read the fine print before signing your life away to some shady paramilitary organization--and God help you if you somehow become the boss's favorite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wake-Up Calls Don't Really Work if They're Already Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to [Maya](http://turquoisedesertsand.tumblr.com) for being my beta reader through this process!

This is how it starts:

Two Cerberus employees take the elevator up to the dormitories reserved for the elite staff. On paper, on maps, the area is labeled as _Executive Dormitories_. In reality, these _Executive Dormitories_ are less like dorms and much more like penthouse apartments reserved for project leaders and anyone else the Illusive Man currently finds favorable. Not everyone who gets keys to one actually uses theirs. When Shepard worked for them, for example, she never once set foot in hers. Others, like former Project Leader Lawson, only used it between off-world assignments. In fact, even with Lawson’s untimely departure from the organization, her apartment (and all the contents therein) remains untouched, as if the Illusive Man hopes for a peaceful reunion.

Neither of these particular apartments is the focus of the visit from these two employees. No, they stop one floor short, on number four. The elevator doors slide silently open and, in unison, the employees walk down the gunmetal gray hallway. At the door to Apartment #413, they stop. The employee standing to the left knocks on the door.

“Mr. Leng, we’re here to collect you for your appointment.”

Nothing but silence answers back. The one on the right frowns and checks the time. “I recommend we apply the control device.”

“So soon?”

“Didn’t you read his dossier?” asks the one on the right. “At this rate, it’s practically a safety requirement.”

Instead of taking the recommendation, the employee on the left knocks on the door again. After receiving only more silence, the one on the right gives a heavy sigh and produces a key. They unlock the door and step quietly inside. Normally, lush gray carpeting would silence their footsteps, but the current tenant did away with that standard almost immediately upon moving in, trading it out for stained cherry wood floors. ( _Easier to clean_ , was the reasoning given for the substitution.) Despite being Cerberus-owned, there is surprisingly minimal visible tech in the apartment. Bookshelves line the walls. Sword racks and training equipment have their own designated places. Even the open kitchen is neatly (if a bit sparsely) decorated. About the only thing that seems out of place is a beautiful grand piano placed near the glass doors leading to the balcony. A series of antique nesting dolls sits lined up by size on the lid. The employee originally on the left stops, points.

“Did you know that he could—?”

“No,” says the other. “Come on. We have a schedule to keep and he’s making us late.”

The employees take only a moment longer to look at the instrument before continuing down the hall. They pass the guest room, the main bathroom; they pass the hall closet and the strange painting of a house propped up on chicken legs. The door leading into the master bedroom is closed. The employee who asked about the piano knocks on the door.

“Mr. Leng? Sir?”

Silence. More knocking.

“Mr. Leng, are you awake?”

More silence. The other knocks with more force.

“Sir, if you do not open this door, we _will_ be forced to come in and fetch you. The Illusive Man _does not_ like to be kept waiting.”

Silence. The more stern of the two employees takes two steps backwards and gestures towards the door to the master bedroom. There is a fleeting look of concern on the patient employee’s face, but the stern employee checks the time and states they are officially three minutes behind schedule. Being behind schedule in these rough times is, as the entire organization knows, unacceptable. The patient employee lets out a resigned sigh and opens the door. Both of them are surprised to find it unlocked. The bedroom continues the same simple-yet-elegant trend of decoration. Directly visible is the king-sized bed and, on a shelf above it, a slightly larger set of nesting dolls, again lined up by size.

“Mr. Leng?” The patient employee steps inside. “Mr. Leng, we’re here—”

The sentence is literally cut short by the sharp blade of a sword slicing through the patient employee’s neck. It takes the headless body a moment of staggering before it falls with a dull, heavy sound. Blood begins to pool on the wooden floorboards. The attacker blocks the view of anyone standing in the hallway with his tall, lean body. The stern employee merely frowns.

“If you are _quite_ finished, Mr. Leng, we should be going now. Please get dressed.”

The tenant of Apartment #413 grips the handle of his sword tighter. “Tell him to find someone else.”

“You know very well that he will not. Now put on a shirt and let’s go.” The employee reaches into a font pants pocket. “I will not ask you again.”

The tenant slides his right foot backward. He turns his head over his shoulder. “You won’t need to.”

“Oh?”

As with the patient Cerberus employee, the tenant’s attack is swift and direct. It ends before it even really begins.

Which is to say that the tenant goes down hard, convulsing and whimpering as his body attempts to process the large amount of electricity suddenly coursing through his sleek frame. The stern Cerberus employee draws out the device—its appearance nearly indistinguishable from a small ballpoint pen—and presses the button again. The struggling tenant goes as rigid before ceasing to make any noise or movement altogether.

“Impressive. I’ll have to report that as a success to R&D.”

The employee kicks the sword out of reach and pulls out a phone. It takes only a moment’s worth of auto-dialing and a few seconds of waiting to reach the intended person.

_“Illusive Man speaking.”_

“It’s done, sir.”

There is a slight pause on the Illusive Man’s end before he asks, _“You have him?”_

“Yes, sir. He’s been subdued.”

_“Subdued?”_

“We gave him multiple attempts to come of his own will, but he was…resistant. He acted out against my partner. I had to use the control device.”

_“Understandable. Do I need to alert Cleanup?”_

The stern employee looks into the room, noting with small interest that the formerly patient employee’s head landed on its right cheek after being separated from its body.

“Yes.”

_“Very well. Report the success of the control device to R &D and wait for Cleanup to arrive. I’m also sending Medical to assess his vitals and assist you in transporting him. Tell them where; they’ll follow your lead.”_

“Thank you, sir.”

The communication disconnects from his end and the phone returns to the employee’s pocket. The stern employee looks down at the tenant of Apartment #413 and, perhaps just to be certain or perhaps just out of genuine spite, gives the button on the control device one more push. In the silence, the sound of amusement carries and fills the entire place.

“Very effective, indeed…”


	2. And This is Why You Always Read the Fine Print

This is how the next part goes:

Kai Leng starts to struggle against his bonds the moment he is consciously aware of being restrained. The cuffs around his wrists and ankles bite into his skin. The one across his chest keeps him pinned down to the stretcher. Nothing he does makes them loosen up. How can something as simple and antique as reinforced leather keep him immobile? Unless—

“He’s awake.” A man whose shirt bears the logo of Cerberus’s Medical Department looks down at him. “Should we apply sedatives?”

“You should let me go!” Kai spits out at the man. “And get me some clothes!”

“Disregard both statements. He’s staying right where he is.” It’s the Cerberus employee from his apartment, the one who did… _something_ to him. Electrocuted him. “The Illusive Man wants him like that. Just continue to follow me.”

The man from Medical looks rightfully uncertain. “But what about—?”

“All Cerberus-funded implants and enhancements have been disabled until such time as the Illusive Man decides to reactivate them. That said—” The employee turns around. “—it might not be smart to take your eyes off him.”

“I’ll have your heads for this!” Kai hisses.

“Ah, but not before the Illusive Man has yours.”

“Stupid bitch. As soon as I get free—”

“Ah, ah, ah! _Language_ , Mr. Leng! I’ll have to make a note of it in my report.” The employee smirks a little. “Just remember; I _did_ give you the option to come quietly of your own will. The Illusive Man will not be so easily satisfied.”

The operative merely glares at the smug expression on her face. Glorified secretary is what she is. It would only take him maybe five minutes to rearrange her into something much more useful—or, at the very least, much less talkative.

“Let’s continue.”

The stretcher starts moving again, rolling past a series of black doors towards one at the end of the gray hall. From behind some doors, voices can be heard. Mechanical sounds come from behind others. A few are, for a Cerberus facility at least, uncomfortably silent. Apart from their little group, nobody else fills the hall, which again is somewhat odd. Beyond Kai’s bare toes, the door that is their destination appears to grow larger, larger, larger—

The door slides open silently and they pass right through. The air is cooler in here and Kai does his best to stifle an instinctive shiver. Not that he seems to succeed.

“Chilly, Mr. Leng?”

“Just fucking do your job,” he retorts.

“Oh, but certainly, especially since we’ve kept him waiting longer than necessary.” The employee points to a rectangular black table in the middle of the room. “Over there, belly-down; make sure his wrists and ankles are secure! If he even gets so much as a _finger_ free, it’ll be on your head.”

The assassin decides to make it as difficult for them as possible. He resists their attempts to take him by the wrists and ankles. When the medical crew succeeds at getting hold of him, Kai twists and bucks. He tries to kick his carriers. A low, otherwise uncharacteristic stream of obscenities flows from his mouth, displaying his knowledge of at least three languages in the process. His black hair, normally kept pulled back in a neat ponytail, goes in all directions with each attempt to escape. Someone makes a comment about caging a wild animal that makes the others laugh. Kai makes a mental note to find out who it was as soon as he gets free.

“Got him!”

“You got him?”

“Do the straps. Hurry, hurry—!”

The tabletop is as cold as the rest of the room, perhaps even colder. One end digs in just under his collarbone, the other stops across his hips. Hands press down hard on Kai’s lower back and shoulders to keep him still. Others work quickly to bind his wrists and ankles in the cuffs attached to the table’s legs. Someone asks about using a gag.

“Negative. He says they pose a risk of suffocation.” The voice belongs to the woman from his apartment. Kai does his best to recoil when she runs her fingers through his hair. “We can’t go having him suffocate, now can we? It’s not like we’ve got backups in cryo.”

“Why not?”

“Too expensive to build a new one from scratch. We learned that the hard way with Shepard.” She pulls him up by the hair and, with her other hand, presses a button under the table. A little pedestal rises from the flat surface, a pedestal upon which she lowers Kai’s chin. Their eyes meet and she gives him an overly saccharine smile. “Don’t worry. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t favor you less.”

The assassin calculates the likelihood of successfully spitting in her face from his present angle and settles with spitting on her shoes. Her smile fades and her eyes grow cold.

“I’ll make sure _that’s_ in the report, too.”

Kai listens as their footsteps recede from the room, leaving him alone with the low hum of whatever machine is presently out of his view. A computer, probably. It wouldn’t surprise him if It just _happens_ to be on and just _happens_ to be recording every second of this right now. The Illusive Man and his damn constant need for surveillance, for information; almost seems to be a fetish, really.

He pulls at the binding around his wrists, tries to pull his legs up. Each attempt causes the edges of the table to dig uncomfortably into his skin. The little pedestal presses into his chin. Still, Kai tries to pull himself free. If he can just get _one wrist_ —

“I’m not sure that that’s the wisest decision, now, is it?”

Kai freezes, arms still tensed against his wrist cuffs. That voice. The tone of it, cordial and commanding all at once… It’s the voice of his boss. His master.

_NOT my master._

What, then, if not that? What sensible boss orders something like this?

He tries to push the thought out of mind, focusing instead on trying to figure out the direction of its source. Unfortunately, it seems to come from everywhere. Kai strains his hearing, trying to pick up the sound of footsteps. How did he not even hear the door open? Was it ever closed in the first place? How long has it been between the staff’s departure and—?

“Relax. You’re only going to hurt yourself trying to break free.”

“You won’t let—” The assassin tries to shift to get a better view. “I’m too valuable.”

The Illusive Man chuckles, the sound coming from somewhere off to the right. “True, you _are_ valuable. True, also, that you serve an important function to this organization. Still—”

The firm grip in his black hair is only palpable a moment before Kai’s head is jerked up hard enough to pull a gasp from his throat.

“—it isn’t wise to get ahead of yourself. In fact, I’d say it’s almost dangerous; pride going before the perilous fall and the like.”

The Illusive Man smirks down at him, strange blue eyes always aglow. Kai curbs the urge to make the first smart remark that comes to mind—something of the like that intends to point out his superior’s hypocrisy—and is rewarded with a gentle return to the pedestal and a little pat on the head. The older man’s footsteps are actually palpable now.

“I don’t understand the point of your resistance, especially since you know very well that I’m going to get my way.”

“I—” Kai tests the wrist cuffs again. “I didn’t sign on for this—”

“Oh, but you _did_ ,” says the Illusive Man. “Remember? It’s in your contract.”

Ah, yes. The contract. The one all prospective Cerberus employees sign before joining the ranks of others to come before them. Kai Leng might make his living with his body but he is by no means an idiot. When he was given his folder full of paperwork, his being somewhat thicker than that of the average Cerberus flunky, he read every word on every page. He made sure he understood everything asked of him. The lawyers in charge of helping Kai sign his life away, a pair of British redheads fond of completing each other’s’ sentences, were quick to grow frustrated with his constant questioning. They were also the most relieved when he finally committed his signature and initials in all the right places. And why? Because, at the end of the day, the young assassin liked what Cerberus had to offer him. The price asked of him was one he could and was willing to pay.

Until the Illusive Man began widening his interpretation of certain clauses.

“The brains in R&D have been working on something special; they think might have applicable use with regards to interrogating prisoners.”

“So test it on the prisoners,” Kai mutters.

“Now why would I do something like that?” The Illusive Man moves to a point somewhere behind him, well out of sight. “Prisoners never respond well to being guinea pigs.”

“And I do?”

“Well, you certainly respond—and that, I must admit, is suitable enough for me.”

A soft beeping sound comes from somewhere off to Kai’s left—the intercom installed by the door. From his bound position, he can see the Illusive Man stride casually over and answer the summons.

“Do you have it?”

_“Yes, sir.”_

“Good. I’m opening the door.”

The door slides open. A tradeoff happens. The Illusive Man stands in the doorway, testing the weight of whatever he holds in his hands. A satisfied sound escapes his lips.

“Very good. Dismissed.”

The door slides closed with a hiss. Kai has just enough time to see a black cylinder before the Illusive Man disappears from his field of view. He can hear the softer hiss of the cylinder’s seal breaking, followed by the item sliding out and clattering across a table somewhere behind the bound man. The Illusive Man makes a pleased sound. This is followed by three soft beeps. There is a sound then that is like the skittering of an insect—or, perhaps more likely, a tiny robot.

_What the hell is he up to this time?_

“Not that it will make too much of a difference, I should think, but refresh my memory. You aren’t fearful of needles, do you?”

Afraid of needles? What kind of stupid question is that?

“No.”

“Good.”

He can hear the Illusive Man stride forward. The sound travels along his right side, getting ever closer. The assassin smothers a gasp that nearly escapes when he feels a warm hand on the middle of his back. He certainly tries to resist a little shiver when the calloused fingertips of his superior trace up towards the nape of his neck. And he _definitely_ tries to ignore the way his skin prickles when those same fingers trace their way back down and stop near the small of his back. Automatic response to external stimuli is all that is. No more, no less. The byproduct of not having much exposure to the sort of intimacies that comes with direct contact on a regular basis. Not that he _needs_ direct skin-to-skin contact on a regular basis, though a man of Kai Leng’s looks and physique could certainly ensure it.

Provided, anyway, that his job would allow time for such things.

The sudden presence of cold metal against the small of his back rescues the gasp he tried to smother earlier. There is a brief, sharp sting that gives way to the oddest feeling that reminds him of a piano string; how it vibrates when he strikes at its respective key. Such a thing is happening to him now, only under his skin.

“What is this?”

“R&D tells me that it acts on the principle of positive reinforcement. It has multiple settings, but for our purposes, I’ve set it to lie detection. When the device detects you to be lying, it’ll trigger a pain response. Tell the truth—”

“And I’ll feel nothing.”

“Oh, you’ll feel something.” The Illusive Man sets down a chair across from the bound man. “We’re trying to encourage the truth from our prisoners. Pain only works so well before they invent things just to make it stop. If we can use a more enticing way of bringing them towards seeing our way, why shouldn’t we try?”

“But I already see things the Cerberus way.”

A small sigh escapes from the older gentleman as he sits down. “I have a few questions about one of your recent missions. There were some notable…discrepancies.”

Discrepancies? Kai tries to flip through his recollection of recent missions. There was the assassination in Argus Rho. The reconnaissance mission on the Citadel. There was a job involving data recovery from an abandoned laboratory vessel once owned by Cerberus. (A couple people died, sure, but not anyone important to the mission.) And then there was the most recent job that nearly ended in disaster—

“Let’s talk about your visit to the Hades Cluster, shall we?”

 _Fuck._ Kai tries not to clench his jaw.

“If you wish.”

“Excluding shuttle crew and yourself,” begins the Illusive Man, “how many were on your team for this mission?”

“Five, sir.” At once, the vibrating feeling grows two steps in intensity before giving way to a tingling warmth that spreads up the bound man’s spine. “What—?”

“What exactly was the core of said mission?” asks the Illusive Man.

“It was a simple operation. Data recovery. Sabotaging. We had additional orders to deal with any potential witnesses or resistance.”

“Deal with them how?”

“Any witnesses who willingly surrendered were to be brought to Sanctuary for…for processing. Resistant ones were—they were neutralized.”

The click of the lighter draws Kai’s attention. The silence between the Illusive Man’s first pull on the cigarette and the first stream of smoke seems to stretch far too long.

“You mean to say,” the Illusive Man says finally, “that they were killed.”

“Yes.”

“And the bodies?” asks the Illusive Man before another drag of his cigarette.

“Disposed of according t—to protocol.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No—”

At least, he doesn’t think so. With each answer he has given, the tingling warmth has spread further, reaching to the tips of his fingers and toes. Kai’s face feels somewhat flushed. A rare nest of butterflies begins to awaken in his belly. The contrasting coolness of the table to which Kai is bound is much too noticeable. The cuffs around his wrists and ankles feel too tight. He is also much more aware of the way the table’s edge digs into the skin near his hips.

“Let’s discuss your team for that mission a moment.” A flick of his boss’s left wrist produces a holoscreen. Five faces appear in the air between them, the images reversed for Kai. “From what I understand, they were randomly assigned to you based on their given skills, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Except—” The Illusive Man points at the face on the far left, a strong-featured fellow, and the rest disappear. “—him. Vanya Ashrakov. Do you remember him?”

 _Vanya?_ A prickling feeling creeps up Kai’s spine, different from the pleasurable sensations otherwise flooding his system. _Vanya Ashrakov? Do we remember him?_

“No. He wasn’t very—”

The rest of his response is cut off by the cry expelled in response to the pins suddenly jabbing themselves into his back. At least, it _feels_ like pins are suddenly jabbing themselves into his back. The pain recedes as quickly as it set in. Before him, the Illusive Man frowns.

“So you knew him.”

“Knew of him, ye—” Another flood washes over Kai. He tenses in his bonds. “ _Yes!_ Yes, I—I knew him. I did.”

The pain recedes again, leaving him panting on the table. If the Illusive Man is concerned, he makes no show of it.

“How?”

“From the—from my days in the Alliance. We were in the same…” The pleasurable feeling begins to return. “We were in the same…”

“You were friends.”

“No.” A small whimper escapes Kai’s lips despite his best efforts to restrain it. The pleasure rises a little. “We barely knew—”

The pain is somehow worse now, like the pins have been heated before getting dumped on him. It lasts longer. The assassin’s cries escape unchecked to bounce off the walls. Kai writhes in his bonds. The knuckles of his hands have gone white, they’re so tightly clenched.

The Illusive Man shifts a little in his seat, pulling off his blazer. This he drapes over one arm of the chair. “This would go easier for you if you simply told the truth. But then, that isn’t your way, is it? Always making things more difficult than they have to be—”

 _“I hated him,”_ spits the assassin through gritted teeth and panting breaths. “I— _h-hated_ — _HIM_.”

“Mm.” The Illusive Man skims Vanya’s file. “According to this, you and Ashrakov had a number of ‘violent confrontations.’ Says here you put him in the hospital at least twice.”

“I was—aiming for the _grave_ ,” Kai grunts.

“Why?”

“He—h-he…deserved…”

The pleasure running under his skin now, the one pushing away the pain that was there only moments ago, makes it hard to talk. If only he could press his cheek to the cool table for a moment! If only he could just get free, get away! Not for long, no. Just long enough to get ahold of himself.

“So,” says the Illusive Man as he busies himself with rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “why on _earth_ would you handpick someone you hate to be on your team? Can’t have been motivated by a sudden change of heart, could it?”

“N-no.”

“Then what was it?”

“Opportunity,” Kai says. “A chance to strike—”

“To get revenge.”

“Yes—” He tries to get his breathing under control, to stifle the soft moans that escape with every exhale. “Yes—”

“For what? What was his crime? Ashrakov was very talented at what he did, with key intel on several key Alliance projects.” The Illusive Man pauses to smoke. “He was very… _valuable_ to the organization.”

“More valuable than—than me?”

It comes out almost automatically, before Kai can remember that he really isn’t in a position to resume back talking his own boss. But the Illusive Man seems to take it in his usual stride; he chuckles and dismisses the personnel file with a wave of his hand. The cigarette winds up snuffed in the chair’s built-in ashtray. He rises from his chair and strides forward. Nervousness flutters in Kai’s chest. Panic speeds his pulse. His lower lip briefly disappears between his teeth, the pain of biting hard translating instead to something that feels better than it should. He pulls at his bonds. Now would be a very good time to get away. Now would be a great time for this to stop. To end. To finish. Now would be perfect.

Now would be—

Now would—

The Illusive Man brushes back the hair from Kai’s face with startling gentleness. “Now what on earth would make you think that? Hm?”

He caresses the back of his hand down the assassin’s face. The assassin tells himself that he leans into the touch out of reflex, that it’s just a physical response to external stimulus. Whimpering is just as automatic an response. Shivering with arousal is, too. Sure, it all currently _feels_ good, but it isn’t something Kai actually _likes_.

At least, so he tells himself.

“You are fairly valuable,” says the Illusive Man. “One of a kind. The best at what you do. But you know that already. Why should I show you that kind of praise? What good would it do?”

The pedestal under Kai’s chin lowers back into the table, replaced by the Illusive Man’s hand tilting his face upward. How he must look to those eyes! Naked and panting, a light sheen of sweat already on his body; his face flushed, lips swollen and eyes pleading for…what? For what, exactly? An end to this? Release from the straps?

Oh, release, sure. But maybe not so much from the straps.

He feels the Illusive Man’s thumb brush across his lips and only the last bit of resistance in his mind is surprised when it invades his mouth. The taste of cigarette smoke and cologne sits palpably on Kai’s tongue.

“Suck.”

And he does, and the device on his back treats it as a truthful answer.

Rather, as the _correct_ answer.

“Be mindful of your teeth,” says the Illusive Man. “I feel so much as a nip, they’re all coming out. Been meaning to test a new bone regenerator, anyway.”

Kai minds his teeth. He lifts his eyes to his boss, trying to read how serious the threat is, and finds only the face of a man pleased with himself, his sense of power.

“You see how easy it is when you do as you’re told? When you follow the rules? Obedience can feel good, can’t it? Open—” The Illusive Man takes his thumb out of Kai’s mouth. “Respond.”

“Y—” Kai swallows. “Yes—”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y-yes.” He shuts his eyes against the surge of pleasure. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” The Illusive Man gently lowers the assassin’s head to the table and, after brushing Kai’s hair back from his face, walks out of view. “So, now, tell me—as best as you can—why it is you felt justified in taking out a bit of vengeance on company time.”

“H-he—he had it out for me. Always did—”

Fingers alight on his bare shoulder, warm and slightly rough.

“He thought—I-I guess—he felt clever with his insults. L-like I’d never—as if—no one ever thought to call me things…b-before he appeared.”

Fingers travel down his back, sending a stream of pleasurable little shocks over his skin. They run over his hips, trail down the muscles of his thighs…

“H-he had his favorites. ‘Ha-half-breed.’ ‘Mongrel.’ Sometimes a simple ‘bastard’ sufficed.” Kai clenches his fists even tighter. “I responded by excelling in training. Higher marks. F-faster—faster times. He hated it, and it amused me.”

“Of course, it would.” The Illusive Man’s hands return up to rest firmly on Kai’s hips, pinning them to the table. “Relax. You’ll just risk rubbing yourself raw against the table for all your trouble.”

“What—o-oh _—oh—_ ”

A moan escapes unfettered from the assassin’s throat. One hand is still at his hips, sure, but the other—ah, that other hand! Who could keep their body still with such encouragement happening between their legs? Kai trembles. He moans and tries to roll his hips. Less a fearsome assassin now, more like some mewling kitten—meek, harmless. The Illusive Man lets him go and he even dares to protest with a frustrated whimper.

“Patience, Kai Leng. Finish your story.”

“Nngh—wh-what’s more to tell—? We hated each other. C-competed… Fought. After an infraction, he switched… He spoke Russian in my presence. Thought I didn’t know. Would call me…” Kai laughs a little as he thinks of it. “Lyudoyed.”

“What was that?”

“Lyudoyed.” The word rolls beautifully off his tongue, even as an edge appears in his voice. “It means ‘cannibal.’”

“Why that word?”

“Because—” The assassin gasps as the Illusive Man’s fingers run over his ribcage. “—h-he thought I ate…dogs.”

There is a pause before the Illusive Man says, “Ah.”

“Yes.” Another breathy laugh escapes. “It was— One time he—in my bed—”

“What?” The Illusive Man buries his fingers into Kai’s hair. “What did he do?”

“A dead dog. He put— I-in my bed—” The anger attached to the memory surges through, strong enough to override the disorienting pleasure. “It was _mine_.”

“What was?”

“The dog. I found it. I raised it. It was mine. My companion.”

“Your friend.”

Kai does not respond. His jaw is clenched, his dark eyes as clear as when they first began. The memory is still there, in vivid color and detail. The smell of blood, the gutted carcass on the platter left on his bunk; the sound of Vanya’s voice when he said…

What was it he said?

_“There now, Lyudoyed! You spend the time fattening him up, the least I do is butcher it for you!”_

And he had laughed, hadn’t he?

That bastard.

“They sent him out for that. But that was when I knew…I’d kill him, and he’d try to kill me. And when I did, I made sure to tear out his throat with my teeth first. Then I butchered him in the same way he did the animal.”

“The dog,” says the Illusive Man. “Your pet.”

Again, Kai says nothing. He registers the freeing of his right wrist when his arm fires off a soreness response through the engineered pleasure. The Illusive Man has moved it to the surface of the table, is resting his hand over it almost protectively. The assassin remains still even when no hand is holding him down. He watches the Illusive Man undo the other cuff, watches him set Kai’s left wrist on the table’s surface. He won’t try to escape, will he? Of course not. Instead, when told, he unbuckles the Illusive Man’s belt. He undoes the only button helping to hold the pants closed. He unzips the fly.

The cock he draws out from behind that is the Illusive Man’s gray boxers is already half-hard, as if waiting for him. It looks clean.

“Well, go on. And remember what I told you.”

 _Of course_ , he remembers.

Kai Leng minds his teeth and it gives him more pleasure than it should.

“You killed him because he took something of yours and destroy it utterly.” The Illusive Man breathes in deep, exhaling in a pleased sigh. He pushes himself slightly further into Kai’s servicing mouth. “I can respect the thought to pay him in kind. I can even respect the brutality used, though it’s not to my personal taste, and the ruse of bringing him aboard a mission under the guise of random assignment.

“What I _can’t_ excuse—” And here he pulls tight on Kai’s hair, drawing out a startled cry that surely travels up the shaft of his cock. “Rather, what I _will not_ excuse is your use of an actual mission to execute a vendetta.”

Kai raises his eyes to his boss and very briefly considers not minding his teeth, if only to wipe the grin from the Illusive Man’s face, but does he? Of course not. He knows better. Or at least, he’s been trained to know better, hasn’t he? Isn’t that why the Illusive Man constantly sends for him?

And to think, there are others who would give their right arm for the privilege!

“Open.”

He does, half-expecting the Illusive Man to take himself in hand and finish himself off. Instead, he wanders off and to the right. Fingers run over Kai’s arms, his back—

“Hands behind your back.”

The assassin complies. The leather of the belt is smooth, warm. A precaution, perhaps? Kai uncurls his fingers and silently swears that he can feel the device placed on him. If he could just get enough reach—

Or not, as the searing shower of needles and pins kindly suggests.

“Do I have to tie your hands to the table again? I’d rather not,” says the Illusive Man.

Kai just whimpers and pants. He wants to speak and can’t. The aftershocks of pain are still coursing through his slender frame. Control. If he can just get under control… Maybe take a good deep breath or several; just enough to get back into control. If he can just—get—control—

“Angh—!”

It starts with just one finger moving in and out of him. Only when he has mostly quieted to stifled moans does the Illusive Man add a second; telling him to relax, reminding him to breathe. How? How can he relax? How can he be expected to breathe normally? It’s too much. Too much to process! It’s just—too—

_Good._

It does. It’s much too good. In the flood of it, all Kai can do is moan and writhe on the table. He tries to push back on the fingers moving in and out of him—trying, perhaps, to encourage an increase in speed; to push himself over that edge that lingers out of reach—and all it gets him is soft laughter.

“Enthusiasm! That’s what I like to see. Of course, I’m still quite disappointed with your behavior on that last mission. Maybe I should let you get better acquainted with the ‘pain’ setting for a little while. Test it out some more.”

_“No—”_

“No?”

“Please…” Kai moans, defeated; wanting. The bonds still around his ankles make it next to impossible to raise his hips. “Please.”

The Illusive Man withdraws his fingers with a small sigh. “Offering yourself to me will only get you so far.”

The assassin barely hears him spitting into his own hand, barely has time to adjust to the emptiness before he feels himself being filled once again.

“Fortunately for you, today that’s quite far enough.”

Kai can only whimper in response. It starts off slow, with the Illusive Man getting close to halfway in before moving out again. Each ensuing thrust, aided by Kai’s needy hips, brings him deeper. They’re pressed close against one another when the Illusive Man breathes something about enthusiasm and presses his fingers into the young man’s skin.

“Patience—patience, boy.”

Kai can only answer with a frustrated moan and the reluctantly slower motion of his hips. Adrift as he is on the sensory overload, the concept of patience feels foreign and unfamiliar. It feels _unfair_. Unwarranted. Get him all riled up just to _wait_? To go _slow_?

“That’s…yeah, that’s better. More like it.” The Illusive Man lets out a breathy laugh. His weight settles across Kai’s back; his voice is husky with lust as he says into Kai’s ear, “Moan a little louder, hm? Such a strong voice…shouldn’t hide it. Not when you enjoy this.”

“I—”

“You resist—” The Illusive Man increases the force of his thrusts. “—but not for long. Soon enough, you— _break_ —”

“Hngh—!”

“—and you _beg_ —”

“Nngh—!”

“And you enjoy… _every_ … _moment_. Don’t you? Look—”

The Illusive Man’s weight disappears from Kai’s back; his hand slips around the young man’s throat, under his jaw, and pulls him up. Kai sees himself on a screen installed into the wall dead ahead and, for a moment, fails to immediately recognize it as his own reflection. It’s not the flushed skin shining with sweat or the wild disarray of his black hair but, rather, the expression on his reflection’s face. Blissful, desirous; completely and utterly lost in the manufactured lust he so genuinely and purely feels coursing through his body.

And behind him glow those bright blue eyes; behind him lurks that appreciative and knowing smile.

“You’re _mine_. Everything. Every…every part. _I_ give you purpose. Direction. Use. And I ask so little in return.” The Illusive Man tightens his hold just enough to draw out a gasp. “Don’t you think so?”

“Oh—” Kai swallows. “Obedience—”

“That’s—that right.” He lowers the assassin back to the table and runs his hands down Kai’s arms and the binding that holds them together. “Very good. Yes—”

“Because I—nngh—” Kai’s eyes flutter shut. “—I belong—”

“That’s it.” The Illusive Man’s fingers dig once more into his hips. _“Say it.”_

“I belong… P-please, I—hngh—I-I’m close—I just—”

The sting of an open hand striking across his bare skin draws out a sharp cry. Kai tries not to sound frustrated when the thrusting slows.

“Four simple words, Kai. Say them!”

“I be—I belong…” A small groan escapes, soft and low. “…to you. I belong to you—”

“Only to me,” says the Illusive Man.

“Only to you,” Kai echoes breathlessly. “Y-yes—yes, I belong to you—”

“Good… Very good. That’s—my boy.”

He can hear that damn smile in the Illusive Man’s voice, but he can almost get himself to ignore it in the wave of pleasure rushing up his spine. The fluttering is back in the assassin’s chest, stronger than before. There is heat building in his gut, too, and tension; like piano wire wound much too tightly. He curls his fingers into fists. He moans and whimpers and the sounds are loud, unhindered. The edge is so close now, so very, close! If it were to stop here, now—

“Nee—nee— I need it,” he whines. “Please just let me— _fuck_ , I’m so—”

“You’re so beautiful when you’re undone like this,” breathes the Illusive Man. “Maybe I should—”

 _“Please!”_ Kai’s entire body trembles. “Please, I’m so close to—I need it, please, just let me…”

“You asked so nicely.” The weight presses down on his body again. The Illusive Man’s lips graze his ear. “Go on, then. _Come for me._ ”

And that seems to be all he needs. Those three simple words are all it takes. The piano wire snaps. The heat in his belly becomes a flame that engulfs him entirely. For a moment, the _who_ of Kai Leng breaks down and shifts into a _what_. A thing. A creature capable of little more than feeling and reacting to feeling. He lies on the table, riding out the rest of his orgasm with the dim certainty that this goddamn table is the only reason he hasn’t fallen to the floor. The and perhaps the Illusive Man, who grips his hips so tightly that there are sure to be bruises to account for later. For now, however…

Right now Kai’s legs are beginning to ache. His arms are growing tired of being held behind him. Breathing makes his chest feel sore. With the fog rolling into the landscape of his mind, he ponders the implications of falling asleep while being fucked; the thought is enough to produce a breathy chuckle from him that appears to go unheard. Kai shuts his eyes, opens them when he feels the leather come away from his wrists, and gets the feeling more time has passed than he can determine. There is an arm around his waist. Someone is talking to him.

“Can you stand? Kai—”

He feels empty. Cold. Tired.

“Kai—”

Someone puts a blanket over him. They slide one of his arms around their shoulders; their free arm is again around his waist. Everything aches. He can barely process the words, he’s so exhausted. He shuts his eyes again; when he opens them, he’s on a stretcher similar to the one that brought him in. The only thing on him is the blanket. He is still in the room, he knows that much. Are the lights off? Dimmed?

He smells fresh cigarette smoke. Someone is speaking again, but about him this time instead.

“Take him back to his quarters. Get him cleaned up. Put him to bed. Then report back directly to me.”

It’s the Illusive Man. But who is he speaking to? Who else knows about this?

“O-oh, one more thing. Inform R&D that performance went exactly as predicted.”

Kai Leng shuts his eyes and pretends his boss really _is_ talking about the tech.


	3. And in the Quiet Aftermath, A Bit of Kindness

This, finally, is how it concludes:

Kai Leng wakes up. Clean. Clearheaded. He rolls onto his back and the black fan installed into the gray ceiling confirms that he is in his bedroom. He is alone in his bed, in silk sleeping pants he most certainly did not have on when he was last aware. The stretch of silence that comes when he holds his breath tells him that he is also alone in his apartment (or, perhaps, that whoever might be in the apartment with him is being very careful about not making any noise). Nothing hurts except his legs, and the dull, deep ache serves as a sign that his augments have yet to be reactivated. He sits up slowly, exhaling as he does, and takes stock of his immediate environment.

Someone cleaned his floor. Someone else got rid of the corpse. His sword is leaning against the wall by the door, its blade clean of blood. The thought of someone else touching his weapons troubles him. He makes a note of talking to the Illusive Man about it as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. Something in the simple motion makes the ache momentarily worse. He sits there, hands pressed against his thighs, stifling a groan behind pressed lips and gritted teeth. Trying to massage the pain away never works. With the augments activated, this wouldn’t even be an issue. A dose of anesthetic, a shot of muscle relaxer; just enough of each to keep him in the field. To keep him useful.

“Fuck.”

His breath comes out short and sharp. He pulls open the top drawer of his bedside table, groping around until he finds a bottle made of opaque black glass. A handful of pills rattles around inside. Two small, white capsules land in his palm; they stick in his throat when he tries to swallow them dry. Coughing makes his thighs ache worse, in pulses timed with each cough. Kai clears his throat, massages it with two fingers. It’s only then that he notices a glass of water on the bedside table, left behind perhaps by some thoughtful Cerberus employee.

Down go the pills, smoothly, coldly. The painlessness sweeps in swiftly, but the pills always leave his legs a touch unsteady. Kai reaches in the drawer again, pulls out a black tube as long as his forearm. All he has to do is press a single button on the end and it extends, locking into place at its full length. He hates the cane, has always hated the damn thing, but sometimes the undesirable things are necessary.

Fresh out of bed, a shower becomes priority. It doesn’t matter that they’ve given him a cleanup; at best, they only do a cursory job, no matter how well they _think_ they do.

Then again, it almost always seems to take a few days to rid his skin of the smell of cigarettes and cologne, doesn’t it?

_Or maybe that’s just shame you’re thinking of._

He chooses to ignore the little voice at the edge of his mind. Instead, Kai settles onto the bench installed into the shower. The water is as hot as he can get it without running the risk of having to explain the presence of burns. And then, for a little while, he sits. Hands on his knees, head resting back against the cold back wall of the shower, he simply sits. And breathes. And tries not to think of how he spent the last…however many hours it was. It was just a dream. An awkward nightmare.

Not that it works. Thoughts creep in anyway, confirmation that it was no mere awkward dream of getting tied down and fucked by his boss.

It happened.

It was real.

And he…

He starts by washing his hair. Migrates to washing his face and neck, his chest, his arms… The assassin takes stock of himself as he goes. There are faded marks on his wrists and ankles from the cuffs. At times he catches himself scrubbing so hard that his skin turns red. When he steps out of the shower, he catches sight of small bruises on his hips in the full-length mirror hanging on the door.

_But you can’t quite meet your own eyes, can you?_

He does it just to spite that stupid voice in his head. There is a hard look in his eyes. Stern. Angry, almost. Angry over what? A lot of things, both new and old.

The sound of the doorbell catches Kai’s attention. Who could it be _now_? What could they want? Certainly, the Illusive Man can’t want to see him already. He hasn’t even reactivated the augments!

_Probably waiting for you to come ask to have them reactivated._

And here, Kai Leng has to concede that the tiny thing barely passing for his conscience might finally have a point.

Again, comes the sound of the doorbell. Kai dresses in fresh underwear, fresh pants; he pulls on a black shirt with long sleeves. Out of habit, he grabs a knife from the dresser. The assassin takes his time to get to the door, relying on the cane more than he cares to admit to himself.

The camera perched above his front door reveals a young woman on the other side of the door, not the same one as before—younger, fresher-faced. New, perhaps. She has a box sitting on a small cart next to her. Kai presses the comm button.

“What?”

The young woman jumps a little. “Package for Mr. Leng, sir—you, sir! Package for, uh—”

“From who?”

“No sender was mentioned. I was just asked to deliver it.”

_Because that isn’t suspicious at all._ Kai frowns. “Leave it outside the door.”

The young woman shifts on her feet. “Sir? I have instructions to bring it inside—”

“Tell them I told you to leave it outside. It’s either that or you can take it back with you, but you’re not getting into this apartment.”

The employee hesitates. She looks up and down the hallway. Finally, she nods, sets the box gently on the floor and leaves. Kai waits until he can feel sure that the woman has gone before he opens the door and uses his cane to drag the package in.

That the package actually seems to _rustle_ in response gives him cause for concern.

“The hell—?”

He shuts the door. Locks it. Slowly, carefully, he lowers himself to the floor. He takes out his knife. The rustling motion of the box has gotten more noticeable, like whatever is inside can sense someone outside. As he cuts through the layer of brown paper, Kai catches the sight of wolf-gray fur through the slits in the box. He catches sight of an eye, a nose, the flash of some teeth—

Kai stops. Slowly, carefully, he slices through the packing tape, wondering who would be stupid enough to use such a thing—let alone brown paper—to seal and cover a box with slits precisely to allow a living thing to _breathe_.

“Idiots in the mailroom—”

The dog pops up before he can finish getting the packing tape completely cut away. It stares up at him, pink tongue hanging out of a mouth that almost seems to mimic smiling. If he didn’t know better, Kai would almost presume to sense… _relief_ coming from the part of the small furry animal.

_Who the hell would send you a dog?_

Who else? And not a dog. Not precisely. It’s a puppy. Perhaps no more than three months old at best guess. And with its triangular head, those perked triangular ears—

_Still doesn’t explain why he’d send you one._

Before the assassin can even begin to come up with a guess, the dog attempts to leap into his lap. Unfortunately, it only succeeds at upending the box with it still inside. Carefully, still very much bewildered, Kai picks up the dog. A cursory glance reveals it to be a fixed male, and one who sees no trouble at all with being held. If anything, the dog seems to find it even better than the box that housed him!

“No tag. No collar—”

The puppy barks at him. Kai puts the dog back in his lap. The painkillers have, by now, kicked in, and something as light as this dog will hardly trouble him. He sets the box bottom-side down and sorts through the other items inside. A food bowl. A water bowl. Chew toys in different animal shapes—

And a blue matryoshka.

The puppy has to be distracted with one of the chew toys while he deals with the increasingly smaller dolls. In the fifth and final one, Kai finds a roll of paper sticking up where the tiniest doll should be. The roll turns out to be two sheets bearing one letter, handwritten in clear, squared print.

> _Kai Leng:_
> 
> _The brains over in the Psych Department recommend that I keep you planet-side for a couple weeks, given the nature of the Ashrakov Incident. I’ve decided to take their recommendation. Additionally, your augments are staying deactivated until your next mission, so I’ll have Medical refill your prescription._

“Great.”

To be fair, however, he could not have expected any different.

> _Psych further recommended that providing you with a companion might prove beneficial towards minimizing outbursts—_ _  
> _

“Outbursts?”

> _—in the future. So I took the liberty of providing you with one. I’m told that the Laika is a powerful breed. Smart. They’re normally used for hunting and tend to bond strongly with their masters._
> 
> _I trust you’ll take good care of your new charge. Being responsible has always been one of your stronger suits._
> 
> _We’ll talk again in a few weeks’ time._
> 
> _\- I.M._

So the dog is a gift, is it? More like bribery, perhaps. Either way, something about it feels rather perverse.

_You could refuse._

Refuse? The Illusive Man? Because _that_ works out so well.

_You could kill it. Send the dog back to him in pieces._

Kai looks down at the little Laika. The dog looks up at him, duck-shaped chew toy in his mouth and big blue eyes fixed on Kai’s face. Harmless. Trusting.

Innocent, really.

Carefully, slowly, the assassin pushes himself to his feet. Gripping the cane tight, Kai bends forward and collects the squirming puppy with one arm. He hums the opening phrases of Chopin’s “Nocturne in C-Sharp Minor” under his breath, silencing the Laika’s soft whines in the process. The rest of the items of the package can wait. The matryoshki will be fine where they are for now. Finding a permanent place for them won’t be hard. In fact, the coffee table _has_ been lacking a definitive bit of decoration, hasn’t it?

“You can’t stay here without a name.” Kai sits down at the piano bench, letting the dog settle onto his lap again. “So what should we call you, hm?”

Kai’s deft fingers move over the keys, playing more of the melody previously on his lips. How long has it been? Weeks? Months? And still the music comes so naturally to him. As easy as breathing, as walking—

_As killing?_

Alone in his apartment, music flowing freely from his fingertips, Kai Leng dares to smile s little. The puppy curls up in his lap, watching silently; tail occasionally wagging.

“What should we call you?” Kai asks again. His mind drifts to folktales. Myths. What was the name of that one creature his grandmother was so fond of? “Czernobog?”

No. It doesn’t feel right.

“His brother, perhaps.” He pauses to scratch the puppy’s head. “Bielobog… Hm. Bielobog. It’s a good name. What do you think?”

The little fur ball nudges his head against Kai’s hand, playfully catching one of Kai’s fingers in his little teeth without causing pain or drawing blood. This, the assassin takes as a good sign, and he dares to smile again.

“Bielobog. Good.”

With that decided, Kai Leng resumes playing, this time something a bit grimmer, a bit more somber—Chopin’s “Prelude No. 4.” The newly christened Bielobog sits in his lap, focused on the movement of his hands. Things are focused. Calm.

And, for now at least, he can allow himself to pretend that this is exactly as he planned it.


End file.
